


Sisterskin

by lilacsigil



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Shapeshifting, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-12
Updated: 2007-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsigil/pseuds/lilacsigil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny Weasley will complete her mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sisterskin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neneboomerwing](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=neneboomerwing).



The Weasley's kitchen seemed like an odd place to be planning strategy, talking of Horcruxes and Death Eaters while the kettle boiled and the scent of fresh bread filled the air. The Burrow was completely secure, though, and the easy availability of food certainly seemed to help keep the meeting on track, especially where Ron was concerned.

 

"Lucius Malfoy," Hermione said, tapping her wand on the tattered map that was taking up half the kitchen table, "He was the one who hid Voldemort's little treasures for all those years. Remember the diary? We know we can't track down a Horcrux with location spells, because the soul fragment confuses the spell. So Ron thought –"

 

"Maybe we can track down where they've been!" Ron finished. "Something that powerful leaves echoes all over the place. Dad brought home a confiscated kettle once – it was supposed to work with eckeltricity, so the charms were all mixed up – and when Dad stuck it in one of his plugs, all the water in the house started boiling. Mum went mental."

 

Harry put his half-eaten sandwich down on the scroll he had been reading. "So powerful stuff leaves traces? Like radiation, yeah?"

 

"If it gets set off, or even if it's in one place for long enough. But to make our magical Geiger counter, we need to know what kind of traces, exactly, so we can tune it correctly. Otherwise it will pick up every kind of magic, and that will be completely useless." Hermione sipped her tea and poked at the map again, until a tiny model of Malfoy Manor rose from the surface. "We know where one Horcrux was stored, though."

 

"You make it sound so easy, Hermione. Like an exam or something."

 

"Oh, ha ha." Hermione flicked a drop of tea at Harry with deadly accuracy.

 

Ron poked at the model of the house. "She's right, though. The Aurors went through the place, after Professor Dumbledore was murdered, and there's nobody there."

 

Harry wiped the tea off his glasses. "The Aurors went in force, with curse-breakers. Two of them still ended up in St. Mungo's. And Tonks told me they still had house elves there –"

 

"That would be about right!" Hermione growled.

 

"– who could raise the alarm. And there were loads of unregistered Floos that could lead anywhere. I mean, the Death Eaters aren't about to jump out and attack a dozen Aurors, but they'd be delighted to see us walk in."

 

"That's right, Harry, always think on the bright side," Ron muttered, but Hermione tilted her head and looked at Harry with renewed interest.

 

"So, you do have a plan. What is it?"

 

"Polyjuice. I know you've got some brewed up, Hermione, so we can send you in as Narcissa. The house elves will let you in, and the Death Eaters won't want to attack you, if they're even still looking through those Floo portals."

 

"Genius, Harry!" Ron looked delighted.

 

"I don't think so, Ron. First of all, how do we get some of her hair?"

 

"Hair's easy – Dobby will get that for us."

 

"Well, why can't he just search the house for us, then?"

 

"He can't touch anything in the house, not even to open a door, because he's not their elf now. It's some kind of craz– traditional house elf thing, he told me. But if the other elves have cleaned her hairbrush, they're sure to have thrown the hair out."

 

"If it's rubbish, Dobby can take it?"

 

"Exactly. He offered to get me an old pair of Malfoy's underpants once." Harry frowned. "No idea why he thought I'd like those."

 

Ron and Hermione giggled, but Hermione was quickly back on track. "Well, that's the hair. But I can't be Narcissa Malfoy! I'm Muggleborn – I can't just casually walk through a household of Death Eater artifacts, no matter how I appear. Look what happened to those two Aurors! How am I supposed to look calm and collected – "

 

"And snotty," Ron added, helpfully.

 

"-and keep my nose in the air at the same time, when they've probably enchanted the door handles to set me on fire!"

 

"Well, I don't think I'll be any better," Ron muttered. "Maybe Harry could do it. He'd look lovely in her robes."

 

"Yeah, Hermione, you'd better do it. Ron and me will fall flat on our faces."

 

"I could do it." Ginny appeared in the doorway, making them all jump.

 

"Ginny, don't be stupid," Ron snapped reflexively, "Why would you be any good?"

 

"I can wear a formal robe properly, for one thing!" Ginny approached the kitchen table and looked at the map. "And I'm a Pureblood – anti-Muggleborn curses aren't going to work on me." Her voice dropped, but her expression remained firm. "I had a connection to that diary, too."

 

"Maybe we can find traces from wherever you kept it, then?" Hermione asked.

 

"I moved it around a lot. Well, he– it told me to move it around, so no-one else found it. If it didn't leave an impression on Harry's things, I doubt it did on mine. But Lucius Malfoy had it for years." She glared at Ron. "You know I'm the best choice, Ron – you know it, too, Harry – so just decide whether you want to do this or not."

 

Ron snapped, "No!" just as Harry and Hermione said the opposite, and Ginny somehow resisted the urge to hex Ron into next week.

 

Hermione gave Ginny a concerned look as the boys argued. "You know this is dangerous."

 

"Yes, and I know you three have a lot more experience sneaking around and finding things out. But I've been in a battle, Hermione, and I've seen what evil can make people do. This is a way I can help, and I'm sick of that bloody diary haunting me."

 

"I trust you, and so does Harry, but I want to give you a Portkey so you can get out of there if you need to."

 

"You've got a Portkey?"

 

"It belongs to the Order – Dumbledore made a few of them before Snape murdered him – and Kingsley Shacklebolt gave me one in case of emergencies. It takes you to the back room at the Hog's Head, in Hogsmeade." She pressed a small bag into Ginny's hand. "The Portkey is inside. It's an Acid Pop."

 

Ginny meant to thank Hermione, but an odd hiccupping noise came out of her, instead, and she blushed. Hermione, though, had the same tight expression on her face at the mention of their murdered headmaster, and took Ginny over to the map of Malfoy Manor without a word.

 

"She always looked so tall," Ginny muttered as she flew above the tree-lined drive of Malfoy Manor, grasping her broom with Narcissa Malfoy's tiny, manicured hands. Ginny had had to dig out the shoes she wore to the Yule Ball – the most expensive thing she owned, so probably suitable for Narcissa's everyday outfit – shoes which were now two sizes too small for her own feet. She resized one of her mother's best robes for Narcissa's skinny frame, and a strong but temporary Embellishment charm took care of the worn patches. Ginny had still put on her best underwear – the silky, sexy items her mother didn't know she had – because she couldn't possibly feel like Narcissa in a greyish cotton bra and the wide-seated briefs with "G. Weasley" spelled into the waistband. The camisole hung rather loosely from Narcissa's thin shoulders, but it didn't really matter underneath the flowing robe; her loose silk briefs, fortunately, had a ribbon tie at the waist that tightened or untied on command, and adapted very nicely to a smaller body.

 

Narcissa, though, was only small from the inside. Ginny had found herself looking down her suddenly long and aristocratic nose at the others, despite Ron being nearly a foot taller. Ron even took a step back as his sister's face curled into Narcissa's ever-present air of disgust. His reaction – more than the strange feeling of her strong, freckled limbs shrinking into pale, slender sticks or watching her own face settling into the lined beginnings of a permanent sneer – gave her great confidence in her disguise. Ron would never have shown weakness in front of his little sister if he had any choice in the matter. He recovered quickly, of course, but Ginny's sharp gaze missed little, even through Narcissa's pale eyes.

 

Although she had her wand and the Portkey safely hidden in the pockets of her robes, Ginny didn't think she was actually going to need any help to find where the diary-horcrux had been stored. She had spent so long being slowly invaded by the tiny, literate fragment of Tom Riddle's soul that she still, occasionally, found herself writing something down and waiting for a reply. Her hands could still feel the shape of it; her thigh could still feel its slight, odd warmth from all the times she had rested it there, pouring her heart out to her only friend.

 

The Malfoys' enormous manor house loomed in front of her, and Ginny fixed her image of Narcissa in her mind for the remaining fifty-five minutes that the Polyjuice would giver her, throwing back her shoulders and letting her face follow Narcissa's natural inclination to sneer. She landed her broom lightly by the steps that led up to the massive front doors, remembering that she owned the place, and was quite startled by half-a-dozen house-elves popping into existence around her.

 

"Mistress! Mistress, you're here!" they chirped, bowing low, some touching their heads to the ground.

 

Ginny almost let surprise cross her face, but kept the frozen look of faint disgust firmly in place and idly kicked at the nearest house-elf.

 

"Get out of my way, and be silent, all of you. No-one must know that I am here."

 

The house-elves scuttled backwards as one, and vanished with soft popping noises, their wide eyes fixed on her. One female house-elf lingered for moment, twisting the hem of the linen pillowcase she wore as a tunic.

 

"But, Mistress-"

 

"Begone." Ginny turned her back and walked up the stairs – house-elf magic was quite different to Wizard magic, and the last thing she wanted was for the house-elves to spy something out of place – and almost tripped on her swirling robe. She glanced up, but the house-elf had, finally, obeyed her and left. Small feet and high-heeled slippers finally co-ordinated on the slippery marble, Ginny pushed open the front door and walked into the mansion. Inside the grand home, there were artifacts – both artistic and magical – absolutely everywhere. There were oversized clocks next to carvings, paintings jostling for space with tapestries, and an enormous and rather sickening portrait of an infant Draco surrounded by sparkling baby dragons – fortunately, the boy in the portrait was asleep and sucking his thumb – half-obscured by a giant crystal chandelier. It didn't feel like a home, though, and it was hard for Ginny to believe that people had actually lived here. It was the silence, she realised, the emptiness and pristine surfaces that no-one had ever touched, let alone permitted their small children to rearrange. There was no homeliness here, merely a cold collection meant for the eye, not the heart, to enjoy. The diary wouldn't have allowed itself to be kept here, away from people. It enjoyed observing their failings and errors too much to be alone.

 

It was strange, though. For all that had gone wrong with him, Draco Malfoy had never seemed distant or cold with his parents – in fact, he parroted all their blood purity rubbish with absolute trust and even affection. Draco's mother sent him legendary boxes of tuck, and his father dashed to the school to defend his son from the smallest slight. Ginny had no doubt that her parents loved her dearly, but they were much more likely to tell her to sort out her own problems – or, at least, tell her to ask her brothers – than make appointments with the Headmaster on her behalf. No, this part of the Malfoy's home was all display and grandeur. The area of the house where the family actually lived – and, therefore, the area that would most interest the diary – must be further in. Hermione's paper model of the house had shown the kitchens to be at the north-east corner of the house – and in Ginny's experience, the kitchen was the centre of the home, even in homes where the cooking was done by house-elves.

 

Nearer the kitchen, the high ceilings had lost their moving art, and the door handles were no longer gilded. The banisters of the staircase looked more familiar to Ginny, polished with the oils of many hands, rather than with wax. Hitching up the front of her robes this time, Ginny pattered up the stairs on Narcissa's little feet, ducking nervously as she passed a mirror on the landing. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, she was convinced she was right. Even empty, this area of the house felt more alive, more lived-in, as if it the occupants had just stepped out for a moment. The first painting on display in the long hall was a childish picture of a unicorn, painted by Draco, aged 7. Ginny glared at it before remembering her outward appearance, and smoothed her features back into disdain.

 

As she walked down the hallway, she could feel the remnants of that warmth and life that the diary had craved, tingling in the fingertips of her writing hand as if she too needed to steal someone's life to exist. She opened door after door, but none was quite right – a guestroom, a study, a drawing room with chairs grouped around the cold fireplace – none of them had been touched by that scratchy, malevolent energy that still flickered at the edge of Ginny's dreams. She sighed, and took another short staircase up to the next flight, where the carpet was softer and the doors fewer. The first door she opened was a bedroom, and she could already feel that she was closer to the heart of the house, to where the family had been. Ginny optimistically swung open the next door, but before she could peer in, a Stunner hit her directly in the face and she collapsed to the ground, suddenly grateful for that thick carpet.

 

When Ginny woke up, she was being kissed on the forehead, then the lips, and a woman's high-pitched, frightened voice was whispering to her. Her eyes fluttered open, ready to tell Hermione not to worry, but the face above hers was no friend – it was Bellatrix Lestrange.

 

"Oh, Cissy, Cissy, I'm sorry! Cissy!"

 

Ginny's guts clenched and she thought for a moment that she was going to throw up. She felt even worse when Bellatrix gently put her arm around Ginny's shoulders and helped her sit up. They were in a bedroom – possibly Lucius and Narcissa's, by the large family crest above the bed – and Bellatrix, twigs in her hair and dirt on her face, held Ginny close.

 

"Don't worry, Cissy, the effects will fade. I didn't know it was you."

 

It was then that Ginny realised that Bellatrix was apologising, not threatening, apologising as if she was afraid that her sister would push her away. Ginny pressed her lips together and turned the Narcissa glare on Bellatrix, who immediately looked even more worried, and brushed her sister's hair back into place with her long, scrawny fingers.

 

"It's all right," Ginny batted at her hand, but didn't move away from the arm around her shoulders. "You didn't know."

 

"I've been so worried, Cissy. No-one would tell me where you were!"

 

"You mustn't tell anyone you saw me," Ginny leaned close to impress secrecy on her. It was rather nice to be the older sibling for once, to be the one who set the rules.

 

"But if you –"

 

Ginny laid a finger on Bellatrix's lips. "If Dumbledore's followers find me, they will kill me. No-one must know."

 

Bellatrix tensed, then smiled, relaxing, and kissed her sister's finger. "You know I can keep secrets, Cissy."

 

Ginny smiled back, although Narcissa's face didn't open up easily, and she had to smile with her mouth almost closed. This didn't seem to bother Bellatrix, who brought her hand up to hold Narcissa's, and slipped Narcissa's finger into her mouth.

 

Ginny gasped, but fortunately, Bellatrix seemed to take this as a positive, and continued to suck on her sister's finger, running her broken fingernails across Narcissa's palm. Ginny shivered, but didn't pull back. If Bellatrix worked out that this was not her sister, Ginny was in serious trouble. In the best possible outcome, she would escape with the Portkey but without any link to the diary. Worse, she had less than half an hour remaining before the Polyjuice wore off, and Bellatrix was now kissing the blue-white inside of her wrist, her mouth hot against Ginny's shivers, her sinewy arm lovingly draped around Ginny's neck so that Ginny could only move closer.

 

"I can't stay," Ginny hissed, and Bellatrix laughed gently.

 

"We don't need long, Cissy. Remember school? Or Auntie's house? We were so quiet, Cissy. It was just us." Her voice was quite unlike the high-pitched babyish mockery that Ginny had heard in the Ministry last year. It was low and hoarse, intimate in a way that made Ginny strangely angry. This woman, who had done so much harm, still expected love from her sister, still wanted the kindness and closeness that she had destroyed for others. Ginny snorted, and Bellatrix twitched, startled. Ginny stared at her, and Bellatrix shifted uncomfortably, her voice shifting upwards like a naughty child.

 

"I won't keep you long, Cissy. I won't."

 

And with that, Ginny reached out and pulled Bellatrix close, holding her still, even with Narcissa's thin arms. She didn't know what was wrong with this family, that Bellatrix expected both love and rejection together, and her heart still blazed with hatred for what this woman had done. Still, Ginny's family knew what she had done, killing chickens, opening the Chamber of Secrets, leaving people paralysed – only luck saving them from death – but Ginny's family took her back with nothing but love. Bellatrix had only an echo of that, and Ginny would not take it from her – the truth, here, would destroy Ginny, and while a lie wouldn't destroy Bellatrix, it might destroy this small scrap of mercy and love, and Ginny didn't know if there was anything else human left inside the haggard Death Eater that lay in her arms.

 

She stood, pulling Bellatrix with her, and pushed her onto the bed, shedding her own robes as she followed, silently grateful that she had chosen the underwear without the giveaway name tags. Bellatrix leaned up to meet her lips as she climbed into place beside her, leaning over her. Bellatrix twisted something in her own robes, and they fell open, revealing a body that was far too thin, her ribs and stomach crossed with scars small and large.

 

Ginny had no idea if Narcissa had seen these scars or not – one, a burn mark, as if from an almost-avoided spell, looked recent – so she just sighed and slid her hands over Bellatrix's bony body, pausing only a little when Bellatrix flinched.

 

"Cissy, Cissy," Bellatrix moaned into her sister's mouth, and Ginny kissed her harder, to silence her, to control her actions, but Bellatrix hadn't lied when she said she could be both quick and quiet. Her hand moved into the wide leg of Ginny's silk knickers without hesitation, knowing exactly where to touch, and Ginny gasped and bit Bellatrix's lip as Narcissa's body responded, unexpectedly. Ginny knew her own body so well, but the Polyjuice potion was mixing up all her signals – Bellatrix's long fingers dipped into Ginny, pressing and stretching, and her thumb moved upwards against her clitoris in a way that made Ginny expect pain, but Narcissa's body responded with pleasure and rocked into Bellatrix's hand.

 

Ginny's knee moved up, spreading her legs wider for Bellatrix's hand, and found its place between Bellatrix's legs, one hand bracing herself, the other covering Bellatrix's breast; Bellatrix ground herself against Narcissa's thigh, still almost silent, her hard fingers working on Ginny's body, and both women flexed into orgasm almost in unison, all sound muffled by the intensity of their kiss. Ginny fell back, and Bellatrix grabbed her hand.

 

"See, Cissy? It's still like before. We haven't lost-"

 

Ginny could only gasp, and her eyes filled with involuntary tears, which she angrily flicked away. "Come on. I'm here for a reason."

 

"I'm not supposed to be here, either, Cissy."

 

Ginny adjusted her rumpled underwear and pulled her heavy robe back on, slipping her feet back into her shoes. Bellatrix was naked without her robe, but obediently followed the cue and dressed. Ginny knew exactly where the diary had been kept now – and it was certainly not in this room. Tom Riddle despised love of any kind as weakness, and as much as he was fascinated by human interaction, sex disgusted him. No, what he wanted was life, the endless continuation of himself. There was only one room here that would symbolise that for Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, the place that the diary would gently encourage them to hide it. Ginny flung open the last few doors in the corridor, and marched into Draco's bedroom. It still had the nursery bars on the window, protecting him from dangers without and within. His bed was as big as his parents', and a smaller version of the same family crest was mounted above it. Ginny knelt on the bed and lifted down the crest, running her fingers across the faint scribbles on the back, burned lightly but clearly into the wood.

_  
What's your name?_

_Turn over the crest, little boy._

_Don't you want a friend?_

_What's your name?  
_

"Why do you need that?" Bellatrix asked, her voice strangely bright.

 

"For Draco," Ginny replied, "And for-"

 

"Don't say it!" Bellatrix quickly hushed her. "He'll hear his name, and I'm not supposed to be here, Cissy. I was just hoping that perhaps I could see you."

 

"Then go." Ginny's order came out more softly than she had intended. Her legs were still wobbly, and, apparently, her voice was, too.

 

Bellatrix smiled and touched her sister's hair, then vanished with the loud cracking sound of Apparition. Ginny waited a moment, then sat down, her body shaking, hugging the wooden crest to her chest. The faint click of the clock pebble in her pocket brought her back to herself in a moment – only five minutes remaining. Ginny leapt up and dashed for the stairs, scurrying down two flights and the hallway back to the main entrance as quickly as she could. Her broom awaited her at the bottom of the steps – and it looked like a house-elf had helpfully cleaned the bristles – and she leapt onto it and flew the short distance over the fence and into a copse before the potion wore off.

 

The shoulder seams of her mother's robe popped, and Ginny kicked off the too-small shoes with some relief, casting the last of Narcissa from her. Her body was still trembling, though, and the feel of Bellatrix's bony fingers on her and in her was very real, her knickers soaked. Ginny sat on the ground, still clutching the wooden crest, and, just for a minute, cried for that sister that could do nothing but wrong, and had no place of comfort.

 

Ginny stood, wiped her face, mounted her broom and flew back to her war. Her strong body and clear mind had no place for that turned-in, helpless love. The freckled fingers that held the broom in one hand and the crest in the other were steady, calm and strong. She held her course all the way back to the Burrow, and felt no need to smile when the others cheered her return.


End file.
